Bittersweet
by spotted.paw
Summary: How did Tristan meet the hawk?


**Author's note: So here's my shot at a Tristan fanfic. I don't know yet where to go with this (or rather, if to go somewhere at all), but I think, this is pre movie, most probably still in his childhood, before he meets Arthur and his Knights.**

The bird sensed no danger. It was rather a calm moment for the animal, as she was resting on a strong upward current that bore her high into the grey clouds of the midday sky. The wind brushed her feathers smoothly and, soaring swift and steady, the hawk held out for a sight of her prey. The winter had come early this year, and it was cold, with lots of snow. Food was scarce these days. Losing their clutch first, and then having the nest destroyed by other birds, the hawks had been late hatching, and now the young ones in their nest wanted to be fed, winter or not. She knew well they were hungry, but then, so was the hawk. The last week had been bad for hunting. A mouse, that had been all. And that mouse had seen better days itself, clearly it was struggling to survive the cold days, as were the hawks. Well ... it failed, and the mother hawk was not the one to remorse. She was only thinking about the two young, hungry birds in her nest, and she was willing to take on every risk to feed them this day.

It was at that very moment, that a strange movement on the ground distracted the hawk. She turned her head, and her keen eyesight did not delude her. Man. There was a man on the ground. She flapped her wings, and she was ready to dive into the shelter of the near forest, but it was already too late. A sharp pain brought a sheer end to her graceful movement, the attack was swift and soundless. The hawk gave a shrill cry of both anger and surprise. She felt her wing was growing stiff with pain. She realized she was going down. Her descent was slow, and she hadn't been very high of late, but with the searing ache in her right wing, she wasn't sure about how to land. The ground was cold, and hard, covered in a thin crust of ice and frost. The hawk came to a halt rather abruptly, and the sting in her side grew even stronger. She flapped her wings helplessly, unable to rise again, and now she brought forth desperate screeching. She thought of the wolves in the forest, and all the other animals she now was easy prey for, not to mention the man that she saw drawing closer. Yes, without doubt, this was the cause of her pain, her attacker. Man. She had seen man use effective methods to bring down its prey. But never, never had she thought she could be man's victim, so quickly.

Her thoughts drifted back to the nest, and she hoped the father would be able to take care of the young birds, she hoped he had been lucky on the hunt tonight. Once more, she flapped one aching wing, and tried to crawl away, although the anguish made her weary, and it was difficult for her to focus. The cold didn't help, the ice was biting her. The man was very close now, and he was moving quick. She knew she was without chance. Then, she felt something covering her, drowning out all light, and the noise became dull. Her form, shivering from fear and pain, was squeezed, and lifted, and she made one last futile attempt to use her tendons or her beak to fight off the attacker. But darkness was around her tight, and she felt there was no way to reach the soft skin of the man. One last, shrill cry, and then she surrendered to her fate, feeling the attacker bearing her away.

---

The sounds of the bird cut sharp into Tristan's heart, but he tried to shut his ears to it. He had been on the hunt for days now, not even seeing so much as the track of an animal. He had run out of food reserves, and the last real meal he had – and he had decided not to count dried, salted meat as a real meal – he couldn't even remember. When he returned to his brown, sturdy horse, he saw it scraping in the frost for some frozen grass. The small horse was hungry as well, he knew it. They would move into the forest for a bit, the ground was a little softer there, not hard and cold as it was on the wide open field.

Tristan was impressed with the mere strength of the bird under the cloth, in his arms. The arrow had pierced its wing, missing the body, thus preventing it from a swift and painless death. He knew that was his responsibility, he had taken bad aim, he had almost missed the hawk. He didn't know yet how to kill the bird. Yes, he had killed other birds before, but never a hawk, never a bird of prey. He had always admired them, swift and smooth and focused. Lethal, yet beautiful. He felt bad about killing this bird, but he knew it was him, or the hawk.

He reached for a thick piece of wood, and held the bundle tight. Hit it on the head, it would be a quick death. He moved to strike, but the bird moved, and Tristan figured that it wouldn't be as easy to hit the hawk's head as he had imagined. He uncovered a part of the bird, and he was well aware of the pain he was causing. The arrow was still prominent through the hawk's wing. He wanted to end this quickly. He removed the cloth from the bird's head, and winced when he immediately felt the hawk's beak closing around his finger. It didn't get a good hold on him though, and Tristan managed to pull away quick enough. It was only a cut. He put the finger in his mouth and sucked on the small wound. The blood was bittersweet on his tongue. Fun, he thought to himself, this was the thing closest to food he had got in some days. The bird now looked at him with huge eyes, full of fear. Tristan could feel its heart beating through the cloth.

Damn it. He dropped the chunk of wood. He didn't have the heart to hit that hawk. His hand was heavy. If only the bird stopped looking at him like that! Behind his back, the horse snorted softly. Tristan's head spun around.

"Oh, shut up, will you!"

He had been riding alone for a very long time, and thus he had picked up the habit of talking to the horse as if it could understand him. He never expected a reply, but in a way, and the horse managed to surprise him every time, he always got one. Now, it looked down on the kneeling form of its master, holding the bird bundle on the ground, with an interest and curiosity common to horses, only to shy away with its head flying when the hawk moved unexpectedly.

With a sigh, Tristan unsheathed a short sword and moved closer to the bird. Cut its throat swiftly, or chop its head off. He had done it before. It was nothing he would normally have been afraid of. Just why was it these partridges and pheasants never looked at him like that? Tristan felt all the hair on his arm stand up as the hawk's glance pierced through him right into his heart. He thought that for a moment, he was able to see his own eyes mirrored in the bird's. But then, he might have been mistaken on that. Either way, the feeling sent a shiver down his back.

He realized he was holding his breath. And his jaw was clenched tight. He closed his eyes and ground his teeth.

"Oh, perfect!"

He rammed the sword point first into the frozen ground and sat back on his heels. He folded his hands in his lap and watched the wounded animal wincing away a little. The horse glanced at him from a distance with its ears pricked up.

"Yeah, you just go ahead and look! You are of no help, really!"

Noisily, Tristan breathed out through his nose. Then, he fully uncovered the bird, gave it another look.

"Alright. I loose."

And he bound the bird's head tightly with the cloth, to reach out and wrap his fingers around the arrow's hilt. Quickly, he broke off the tip just above the point where it protruded the bird's wing.

"Hold tight now," he informed the bird, and then he pulled out the arrow.

This time, the hawk screamed, a very hoarse cry, and now Tristan truly felt sick to his stomach. He could not believe just how wrong he had done this time.

Tristan held the bird in his lap for a while, unsure about what to do with it. He felt the cold creeping up through his legs, while the hawk, more and more, grew too tired to struggle. He wondered, did it have a chance of surviving with a wound like this anyway? It would die out here, so much was obvious to him.

"Great! Just great."

Once more, Tristan wrapped the cloth around the bird and carefully carried it over to his horse. He would have to take care of it now, or kill it. He knew well that killing the hawk would be the easiest solution for either of them. But there he was, going soft over a bird. He had to admit he was angry with himself, for his own, and certainly for the bird's sake.

"What kind of a stupid idea is this anyway, shooting down a hawk for food?" Tristan said to the horse, but from the look the animal gave him, it was clear that it would not accept the blame. With more silent cursing, he climbed into the saddle and placed the exhausted hawk in front of him.

"Alright, easy now."

While the horse began to move forward, Tristan found one last piece of dried meat in his bag.

"Fantastic," he informed the horse, sarcasm thick in his voice, "The Gods reward me instantly." But he decided to save that piece for later.

Maybe ... maybe he would rather give it to the hawk.


End file.
